


A Break is as Good as a Change

by Timid_Timbuktu



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: M/M, Smut, Valentine's Day gift to Miloe-ites, relatively fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timid_Timbuktu/pseuds/Timid_Timbuktu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes a little late-night honesty is all it takes to get out of a rut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Break is as Good as a Change

**Author's Note:**

> Whether they like it or not, this is my Valentine’s Day gift to all of my fellow Miloe-ites out there. After all of the Miloe angst I wanted to write something happy and romantic and slightly silly. So, here we go.
> 
> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. If I misuse a word, let me know.

Miles had been away for four weeks, investigating possible uprisings in Maine and New Hampshire. Sebastian missed electricity the most during Miles’ absences. If they still had cars, these trips would have taken a week. Horses were overrated, cars were not.

Miles’ first nights back were always the same: joy, conversation, sex, dinner, conversation, and more sex. They’d never get any sleep during that first night, even though Miles often wanted to sleep. But Bass was too excited, like a puppy with a bone. They would lie in bed all night, Sebastian talking, pushing Miles back awake whenever he had the audacity to fall asleep. There was a certain freedom in speaking to each other side by side, legs entangled, in the darkness. Sebastian felt more comfortable bringing up sensitive and downright silly topics, things that would have seemed embarrassing across the dinner table.

Sometimes they just played “questions,” because it was Sebastian’s favorite game. Bass would say, “Ask me a question about myself that you don’t already know the answer to.” Miles would always sigh, because Miles already knew almost everything about him. It was an impossible request. But he would try, because he knew that Bass loved it. What drove Bass to keep asking was the joy that came when Miles actually found something new. It made Bass feel like he had deepened their relationship, that they were slightly more in sync.

Miles sighed again tonight, pausing for so many seconds that Bass suspected he’d fallen asleep.

He was about to push him awake when Miles’ gravelly, sleepy voice cut through the dark, “What is one thing you’d like to do during sex that we’ve never done? Something that you’ve never asked for because you didn’t think I would be into it, or it was embarrassing or whatever?”

Oddly, that was a good question. They didn’t often talk about sex. They simply had it.

“I’d like you to give me a rim job,” Bass muttered, completely embarrassed, after taking a few seconds to consider.

“You want me to lick your asshole?” Miles asked, laughter in his voice as he turned toward Bass.

Sebastian wanted to hide his head in shame, “I’m not asking you to do it. I would never ask, since there isn’t enough money in the world for me to do that to you. But you asked the question and that is my answer.”

“Okay,” Miles replied cryptically.

“Well, what about you?” Bass asked, wanting only to divert attention away from his answer.

“Hmm, I guess I would like you to be in control. Throw me down and have your way with me.”

“I fuck you sometimes. I mean I know that it is usually the other way around, but we switch up the roles on occasion.”

“No, Bass, I don’t just mean that I want you to fuck me. I mean that I want you to own me. I want you to control me.”

“What?” Bass said, propping his head on his hand and gazing down into Miles’ face, dimly illuminated by the moonlight, “You mean that you want to be dominated? You? You do know that you are talking about you, right?”

“I didn’t mock your answer.”

“I’m not mocking, I’m completely blindsided.”

“Why?”

“Miles, whenever we’ve veered into that kind of dynamic in bed, it’s always been a certain way. You dominate and I comply.”

“You comply?” Miles’ voice rose slightly in anger.

“I don’t mean it that way. I mean you’ve always taken control, and I love it and I thought you wanted to, so I always let you.”

“Okay,” Miles’ voice had become low and sleepy again, “I just wonder what it’s like to be completely dominated, to be the one who gets to just lay there.”

Bass felt the heat rise in his gut, “Just lay there? You think I just lay there?”

“I’m doing all of the work,” Miles responded.

“Wha-? Huh? I-“ Bass had turned into a quivering ball of confused outrage, “Doing all the work? You think I’m just some boring wet noodle?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh no, you are not getting out of this now. It is on, Miles. At some point in the next week, whenever _I_ feel in the mood, I am going to throw you down and ‘have my way with you.’ I am going to show you just who you belong to.”

“Great,” Miles said with a smile, “Like I said, that is something I’ve always wanted to try out.”

“You have no idea what you are in for,” Bass couldn’t let the topic go, “The control that I have to have, knowing what I want and not being able to just take it. No, I can’t just take what I want, like you get to. I have to ask. I have to beg. You think you will be capable of begging, Miles?”

“Wait a second,” Miles propped his head on his hand, a mirror of Bass’ posture, “You think I’m just taking what I want? I’m giving _you_ what you want. I’m reading every hint you give me and trying to make sure that you are happy, often disregarding what I want in the process. You think you can handle that, _Sebastian_?”

“You bet I can,” Bass replied, smirking. This was the reason he played “questions” with Miles, for moments like this, when their whole relationship could be turned on its head after eight years from one innocent little question.

*****

Sebastian tried a few days later. Six minutes in, when Bass was stripped down to his boxers, Miles took over.

He tried again two days after that. Eleven minutes in, when they were both naked and Bass had just started sucking on Miles’ cock, Miles took over.

Completely frustrated, he tried again the following day. Three minutes in, books and maps brushed off of his desk in the heat of the moment, Miles took over.

He blamed himself as much as he blamed Miles. He knew that if he were a successful top, Miles wouldn’t have felt the need to take over. He was failing but he had no idea why. He invited Jeremy over for coffee when he was certain that Miles would be occupied with officer training. Then, he proceeded to fidget in his chair like a six-year-old while Jeremy gazed at him in confusion.

“Sir?”

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’ Jer, this isn’t official business. It’s personal.”

Jeremy pursed his lips and nodded, “Great,” He elongated the word like he was Tony the Tiger.

“It’s a private matter, actually, off the record.”

“Am I supposed to keep a record, because I didn’t know that? I don’t have a record.”

Bass rolled his eyes, “It’s just a figure of speech. Jesus, forget it.”

Jeremy gave him a toothless grin, “Less than a minute, and you’re already pissed at me. I win this round. Now what is wrong with Miles…other than the normal, of course?”

“You know how Miles always has to be in control?”

“Uh yeah, it’s kind of his defining personality trait. I think there are a few people in Siberia who don’t know, but everyone else got the memo.”

Sebastian smiled. Jeremy had a way of calming him when he was agitated, the only other person still alive, besides Miles, who could. When he felt like being completely honest, he had to admit that Jeremy was better at it than Miles, almost as good as his youngest sister had been. Jeremy was like her in so many ways, the same snarky attitude that was masking the absolute loyalty under the surface.

“So, if you wanted to control Miles how would you do it?”

“Knock him unconscious?” Jeremy said without skipping a beat.

“Forget it, I never should have asked you,” Bass gave him a wave of dismissal.

Jeremy didn’t move, “Is this about something more…intimate…than the Republic?”

Bass fixed Jeremy with a hard gaze, a look he hoped said “yes” without requiring his lips to say it too.

“Ah,” Jeremy nodded, “Bass, remember when you and Miles got married?”

“No,” Bass was completely baffled, “We aren’t married.”

“Exactly, why is that again? You’ve been together for almost ten years, right?”

“Eight.”

“Eight years. Most couples would be married by now.”

“We aren’t ‘most couples,’ Jeremy. First off, we control an entire nation, and we are both men. It might not be good for business to be so open about our relationship.”

“It didn’t seem to hurt Alexander the Great,” Jeremy muttered.

Bass sighed in frustration. He didn’t know much about Alexander the Great and he wasn’t even certain if he had been _openly_ gay. But he was too lazy to investigate the subject. Oh, how he missed Wikipedia, it would have given him an answer quickly, possibly not the correct answer, but who really cared when it only took ten seconds? Regardless of the truth, Jeremy seemed convinced that Alexander the Great was the Nathan Lane of the ancient world and he absolutely loved to compare Bass to him all the time. It was slightly annoying actually, since Bass did know that Alexander’s lover had died young and dragged a grief-stricken Alexander into oblivion with him. Not exactly the best role models for being fabulously gay and in charge.

“This is beside the point. Regardless of what you think about our marital state, we aren’t married. That is between me and him, and you still haven’t helped with my original issue.”

“My point, Bass, was this: you and Miles never take a vacation from the Republic. It owns both of you. Everyday you two wake up and spend the day running the country. Maybe what you need is a honeymoon…the fact that you aren’t technically married is just a detail.”

“Miles and I can’t take a vacation.”

“Why not?”

“We wake up everyday and run the Republic because we have to.”

“Bass, trust me, you and Miles can take a week. The Republic won’t fall apart and there won’t be a coup in your absence. We’ll all take care of it for you. You and Miles should really do this. You guys need to remember that you exist outside of this government, as people, as a couple. You are more than just generals. And if a little role reversal in the bedroom is what you are craving, it might help to take a honeymoon. That is just my advice.”

“Miles won’t go for it.”

“Then make him. That is your first assignment in taking control from Miles. You decide that you are going on vacation and you drag him along.”

Bass rubbed his hand across his forehead. Jeremy had a point. The reason Miles always took control was because Bass let him. He’d always give up without even trying. He didn’t like to fight, and he didn’t usually care about being in control, so he simply let Miles make the decisions.

And a vacation sounded amazing.

He smiled, topped off Jeremy’s coffee, and they set to work planning a “honeymoon.”

*****

In the end, Bass was still a bit rusty on how to be “the one in control,” so Jeremy suggested that he simply slip Miles some sleeping drugs and take him away as a surprise. What could Miles do about it if he woke up and they were already on their fake honeymoon? Bass knew the answer to that. Miles could do a lot, for instance yell, throw things, give him the silent treatment, pout, punch him. The list was endless and none of it was good.

Jeremy’s solution: tie him up, that’ll show him who is in control.

Bass hadn’t had a snappy comeback for that, so the plan was set. He slipped Miles a sedative, nestled him comfortably in their private horse-drawn carriage, and they set off in the dead of night for Ocean City, NJ.

The militia maintained a collection of secure beach houses in Ocean City for officers and their families. Jeremy had gone many times with his girlfriend, but Miles and Bass had never been. They talked about it often, how they should go for a long weekend, but then some official government business would always get in the way: a village hadn’t paid its taxes, rebels had attacked an outpost, a shipment of ice had been stolen on its way from Lake Ontario. Something always came up.

The coachman rode the four horses hard for the entire night, as Bass snuggled next to Miles’ unconscious body and managed to get a few hours of sleep. Occasionally, his secret service agents would ride their horses a bit too close to the carriage and the added noise of the hoof beats would wake him. Of course, he still needed his secret service to tail him on this excursion, so he and Miles could never be completely alone. Thankfully, they were good at being inconspicuous, but their presence had a way of taking the romance out of this fake honeymoon, almost as much as one fake-groom slipping the other fake-groom a sleeping drug so that he could kidnap him.

Ocean City was only an hour’s drive in a car. They finally arrived as the sun was rising over the Atlantic Ocean…after eight hours of travel.

Two agents helped move Miles’ unconscious body upstairs and into the bed as the rest conducted a series of comprehensive sweeps of the property. Jeremy, in a show of friendly solidarity, had gone to the house the day before with all of Bass’ and Miles’ favorite foods and beverages. He claimed that it was his wedding present to them. Jeremy had gone so far with this honeymoon theme that Bass actually wondered if maybe he and Miles should have gotten married. It had never interested either of them before, but Bass was starting to see the advantages.

After the agents cleared out of the house, Bass set to work “preparing” Miles. He took off Miles’ shirt and then gently tied his hands to the headboard, trying to ignore the hardening of his cock as he straddled Miles. The ropes were loose so that Miles still had full mobility of his arms. Bass merely wanted to keep him in the bed; he didn’t want to immobilize him. He took a moment to stare at Miles’ sleeping form. The gray was just beginning to creep into his stubble. Despite what it meant, that they were both getting older, Bass loved how it looked. He rubbed his fingers along it, imagining how it would feel brushing against his inner thigh as Miles gazed up at him with those impossibly dark eyes.

He leaned back and admired his work. Miles looked delicious when tied up. He planted a light kiss over the ‘M’ brand on Miles’ left pectoral muscle, remembering how Miles had looked up at him with brave eyes and begged him to push that red-hot branding iron into his chest. Afterward, Miles had fucked him without mercy.

Bass wandered down to the kitchen and prepared a picnic breakfast, sitting down in the bed beside Miles, waiting, planning, and trying to steel his nerves.

An hour later, Miles finally groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He was bleary-eyed as he looked up at Bass and smiled.

“Morning, baby,” he moaned, “Did I drink too much or something?”

Bass simply stared back, waiting for Miles to figure out what had really happened. Miles rubbed his hand against his forehead, jerking back and looking at the rope tied around his wrist. He lifted both of his bound hands, confusion painting his face, and finally looked around the room.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Beach house, Ocean City.”

“How much did I drink? Am I still drunk?”

Bass smiled, “I drugged you and kidnapped you. This is a sort-of honeymoon.”

“Oh god, did we get married last night?” Miles’ eyes widened in fear.

“Sorry the thought of marrying me seems so abhorrent.”

Miles’ eyes softened, “Bass, please tell me we didn’t get married last night, because when we get married, I intend to be sober so I can remember every detail.”

It was Bass’ turn to be slightly afraid, _when_ they got married, not _if_. Bass swallowed loudly and croaked, “Fake honeymoon, really just a vacation. We didn’t get married last night.”

“Why am I tied up?”

“Because,” Bass’ voice dropped low, “I’m going to ‘have my way with you.’ This is the part where I take control, and you submit.”

Miles’ furrowed his brow, “Then you didn’t do a very good job of tying me up. These ropes are ridiculously loose. I could easily wrap them around you and gain control.”

“And I’m sure that is exactly what you’ll do,” Bass muttered, grabbing the tray of food from the nightstand. He laid it on Miles’ lap, “Eat, drink that water, because I’m going to go change and after that, you won’t have time.”

“I need to pee.”

“Fuck,” Bass exclaimed, standing up and glaring at Miles.

“See, it is hard to be the dom. You have to consider my needs, all of my needs,” Miles was smirking like an asshole. Bass wanted to throw him down and fuck him senseless, wipe that damn look off of his face. Instead he untied him.

“Fine, you win. Go to the bathroom.”

Miles cupped his hand around Bass’ cheek and smiled, “Thanks, baby. I’ll tie myself back up when I’m done. You can go change.”

And Miles was still in charge, just like always. This was going to be harder than Bass had expected.

Bass gave him ten minutes, enough time to pee and eat. It was also a good opportunity for Bass to mentally prepare himself.

He stepped into the bedroom. Almost instantly Miles dissolved into a giggling mess, eyes wide and giddy as he looked at his lover.

“What are you wearing?” Miles asked.

Bass would have been offended, but he could identify the difference between excited laughter and derisive laughter from Miles…this was definitely the excited variety.

“I’m the whipping cowboy and I’m here to hogtie and fuck you until you submit, Miles Matheson.”

Miles’ eyes roamed up and down Bass’ body multiple times. He was dressed in only black boxer-briefs and a cowboy hat. Wrapped around his waist was a belt with a whip attached to one side and a length of rope on the other. He turned around and shook his ass at Miles. Black boxer-briefs were Miles’ favorite. Bass preferred boxers for everyday use, so these only came out on special occasions. They had a certain effect on Miles known as rabid horniness.

Miles giggled again, “Damn, you are one fucking hot cowboy. Maybe we should have gone out west and taken control of the Plains Nation so you could have been a cowboy this entire time.”

Bass turned back around, rolling his hips seductively as he unhooked the whip and lashed it out, in the opposite direction as Miles. It hit the ceiling and then crashed into the dresser, knocking a vase onto the floor. It shattered loudly and Bass froze mid-swing.

Miles fell back onto the bed, laughing uproariously, “Bassy, did you not practice with the whip?”

Bass looked at him and started laughing too, “You know how many times I watched Indiana Jones when we were kids. I thought that would be enough practice.”

“Holy fuck,” Miles gasped clutching his stomach from the pain of laughing.

“Ah well,” Bass smiled and dropped the whip on the floor, climbing onto the bed and straddling Miles’ body, “I’ll practice later.”

He unbuttoned Miles’ pants and pulled them off, freeing Miles’ hardening cock, palming it slowly.

“Look at me, Miles,” he’d grown completely serious, forgetting the incident with the whip and pushing the cowboy hat further up onto his forehead, “What do you want, baby?”

“You’re going to make me say it?” Miles asked, still coming down from his laughing fit. He loved it when Bass talked dirty, but he was relatively taciturn during sex.

“I want to hear you describe exactly what you want. So, that is exactly what you are going to do, do you understand?”

Miles’ eyes grew intense and his dick pulsed in Bass’ hand.

“I want to feel your mouth around my cock,” Miles said slowly, feeling his way through his desires, “I want it rough and hard. I want you to push my face into the mattress while you fuck me. I want…I want you to call me a whore and slut. I want you to spank me when you think I’ve been looking at other men. I want you to blindfold me and shove your cock down my throat until all I can think about is you. I-”

He stopped abruptly, obviously hitting a wall in his brain. Bass was reeling. Miles had never expressed himself like that before. Bass hadn’t even known that Miles desired some of those things.

“Well,” Bass murmured, licking a trail up Miles’ stomach, “Before the week is out, I’ll make all of those things happen…and more. Beg me.”

“Please, Sebastian,” Miles licked his parted lips, making them glisten. Bass smiled and slid down between Miles’ legs, taking his cock into mouth.

“Bass, take off the hat. I can’t see you.”

He grasped Miles balls just a little too forcefully and looked up, “That sounded like a command, General Matheson. Do you want to repeat that?”

Miles was panting with desire. He simply shook his head.

“Ask nicely, Miles, maybe I’ll do it.”

He ran his thumb lightly over the tip of Miles’ dick, causing Miles to close his eyes and bite his lip.

“I said,” Bass repeated more forcefully, “’Ask nicely, Miles.’”

“Please, President Monroe, will you please take off the hat? I want to be able to look at you.”

Bass smirked and removed the hat, chucking it over the side of the bed. It had served its purpose, and based on Miles’ reaction, he was certain it would be making an appearance again during this “honeymoon.”

He sucked Miles’ dick into his mouth again, hollowing his cheeks and rolling his tongue around the tip in the way he knew Miles loved. He was so lost in the feel and smell of Miles that it took a second to realize that Miles’ fingers were laced inside his hair. Perhaps it was time to tighten those ropes.

He looked up at Miles.

“Did I tell you that it was okay to touch my hair?”

“What?” Miles was genuinely confused and still trying to focus on anything other than Bass’ mouth on his cock.

Bass sat up and grabbed both of the ropes attached to Miles’ hands, pulling them up between them, “You are a slow learner, aren’t you? Miles, _I_ tell _you_ what to do. You ask nicely and maybe I’ll give you what you want. But you don’t just take. You don’t just grab. Got it?”

“Yes.”

Bass could see the intensity in Miles’ eyes every time he told him what to do. He did want to be dominated. He was reveling in it. It seemed strange that this had never happened during the past eight years, that Miles had never asked for it before.

“I think it’s time we really tied you up.”

Bass untied the ropes around Miles’ wrist and pulled the other rope from his belt. He flipped Miles onto his stomach and tied his wrists together behind his back.

“Is that too tight, baby?”

“No, it’s good.”

He hopped off the bed, ridding himself of his pesky underwear and belt, before pulling Miles toward the edge of the bed so that his head was dangling over. He rolled Miles until he was lying on his back, hands bound underneath him, dark eyes gazing at Bass wantonly.

“Are you a cock-hungry little slut?” Bass asked.

Miles nodded.

“Then show me.”

Miles tilted his head off of the bed and opened his mouth. Bass’ entire body twitched with need at the sight of Miles bound and ready to be taken.

He stepped forward and slowly slid his cock into Miles’ waiting mouth. He tried to be gentle, to read Miles’ body language. Bass could swallow an entire cock easily. He could be face-fucked for minutes on end without any problems, but Miles had always had a much more developed gag reflex. Bass felt the restriction when he was halfway in, Miles’ throat convulsing as it rebelled against the intrusion. He pulled out and thrust back in, trying to stay within that boundary as he drove himself in and out of his lover’s mouth. Unlike Bass, Miles wasn’t masochistic, so Bass knew that he had to carefully walk the razor’s edge between controlling Miles and hurting him. This whole thing would be over way too quickly if he actually hurt him.

After a couple of minutes, Miles turned his head, pulling his mouth away while he coughed and tried to catch his breath. Bass almost asked him if he was okay, wanting to comfort him, but he stopped himself. He remembered how Miles always acted as the dom, stern and unyielding. Miles would only break into loving comfort when Bass told him to stop. Since Miles hadn’t asked him to stop, he silently let Miles regain control of himself, surprised when Miles tilted his head back and opened his mouth for a second round. Bass gladly obliged.

When Miles finally pulled away again, Bass leaned over and plundered his mouth with his tongue, loving the fact that Miles tasted like him. Bass started to break the kiss and Miles moaned, chasing Bass’ mouth with his own, trying to continue the kiss. Bass pushed him away, pleased to see Miles struggle slightly against his restraints.

“Kiss me, damn it,” Miles muttered, fire in his eyes.

“Ah, baby,” Bass grasped Miles’ chin, “That sounded like a demand.”

Miles actually glared at him. He looked so adorable that Bass started to chuckle, making the glare deepen. Somehow, Miles caught himself before he angrily snapped.

“Please,” he whimpered, obviously putting on a show of being submissive. There was still a hard edge to his eyes.

But Bass was fully committed. Miles had asked to be dominated and owned, and Bass intended to deliver. He shook his head and said, condescendingly, “General Matheson, that didn’t sound very sincere and not nearly humble enough.”

Miles stared at him for a few seconds and Bass could see the moment that he broke. His eyes turned from angry to needy, “Bass, please. I want you to kiss me. Show me that you love me.”

Bass kneeled on the bed, pulling Miles up so that they were face to face. He took Miles’ head in his hands and ravished his mouth, exploring it thoroughly, refraining from moaning and melting into a puddle of desire like he wanted to. He remained firm, taking complete control of the kiss, trying to drive Miles over the edge, overjoyed when Miles groaned into his mouth and pushed his body flush against him.

Miles was panting when Bass finally broke the kiss, his eyes cloudy and unfocused with lust, his lips pink and swollen. Seeing that look on Miles’ face, Bass knew that it was over. He had to fuck Miles now. No more fooling around.

Bass pulled Miles off of the bed and pushed him face down onto the floor, pulling his ass into the air. Miles struggled, unable to support his weight with his hands tied behind his back. Bass didn’t care. He coated his index finger with the oil that was sitting on the nightstand and slid it into Miles’ ass in one fluid motion. Miles shuddered and groaned, still wriggling around as he tried to find a comfortable position, one in which his face wasn’t pushed against the carpet.

“What do you want me to do, Miles?” Bass asked quietly as he thrust two fingers in and out of Miles.

“Fuck me, Jesus Christ, just fuck me.”

“And still you don’t ask nicely.”

“Please, Sebastian.”

Miles always used his full name when he was serious. It made Bass smile.

“Who else has ever made you feel like this?”

“Nobody. Just you.”

“That’s why you are mine, right?” Bass pushed in the third finger, desperate to feel that tight ass wrapped around his dick.

“Yes. I’m yours. Always. Forever. Nobody else.”

Miles had lost the ability to speak in full sentences, panting and writhing as Bass finger-fucked his ass.

“You want me to fuck you, baby?”

“Please, yes.”

Sebastian slid his cock into Miles’ well-oiled ass, his head rolling back as he lost all perception of anything else in this world besides that tight, slick heat. He grabbed the rope around Miles’ wrists and plowed into him again and again, loving the way Miles whimpered each time he buried himself to the hilt.

“You’re mine, Miles. You fucking belong to me. Do you understand?” 

“God, yes. I’m yours.”

Bass rode him hard, only pausing occasionally to slap his ass, loving the way his beautiful butt cheeks turned pink. Miles pleaded with him to touch his cock, to stroke it, but Bass had other plans. He didn’t want Miles to come during this pounding, so he denied him, keeping his hands on Miles’ hips.

Finally Miles cursed at him to just fucking stroke his cock.

Bass stopped fucking him and leaned down until he could look into Miles’ eyes, “You asked. I denied. So don’t keep asking, Miles and don’t curse at me. Who do you belong to?”

“You,” Miles whispered, a quivering ball of need.

Bass pushed back into him and fucked him roughly, happy when Miles lost his ability to plead and merely began to moan in response. Bass felt the familiar tightening in his balls and his body began to shake. He buried himself as deeply as he could.

As the world came back into focus, he untied Miles hands and pulled out, not caring about the mess that followed his softening cock. He flipped Miles onto his back. Before Miles could speak, Bass was sucking his cock deeply into his mouth. He opened his throat and slid down, not pulling back up until his lips had touched the base of Miles’ cock, Miles’ trimmed pubic hair tickling his nose. He rode Miles’ cock with his mouth the same way he had just fucked Miles, fast and rough. He didn’t even push Miles’ hands away when they laced into his hair. Miles was whimpering with need, head thrown back as his hips bucked as he unloaded into Bass’ mouth.

Bass didn’t swallow, waiting for Miles to ride out his orgasm. When Miles stopped shaking, Bass pushed him down onto the carpet, tapping his own lips with his index finger and then tapping Miles’ lips. It was a question, something Miles liked on occasion, and it seemed a fitting end to this dom fantasy.

“Yes,” Miles whispered, pulling Bass’ head over his own and opening his mouth. Bass dropped Miles’ come into his mouth and then pulled back, hungrily watching as Miles swallowed and licked his lips clean. Bass kissed him, relishing the taste of Miles on his own tongue. He stood up, dragging Miles onto the bed with him.

Miles fell onto his back like his body was made of jelly and pulled Bass onto his chest, gazing at him sleepily, completely sated. Bass was surprised by how much he had enjoyed being the dominant one, and he hoped that Miles was thinking along the same lines.

Miles’ stomach gurgled noisily, breaking the reverie, “I guess I’m still hungry. We should pop down to the kitchen and find something to eat.”

“You just ate,” Bass protested, propping his arms on Miles’ chest so that he could lift his head and look at him.

“I know, but that, what we just did, that was a work out.”

“Really? But you were just, what did you call it, ‘laying there’ while I did all of the work.”

Miles smiled, his face lighting up completely, “You are so gullible, babe. I was trying to give you some fodder, give you the strength to do what you just did.”

Bass was genuinely offended now, “You didn’t think I could do it?”

“No, I know that I’m the problem, not you. I didn’t think that _I_ could do it, that _I_ could give up control unless you really forced me to.”

“I’m glad you asked for that. It was fucking awesome,” Bass murmured, realizing too late that he had fallen into the cliché of assessing sex during the afterglow. But sometimes sex was good enough to warrant an errant cliché.

“That is the fucking truth,” Miles said, running his fingers through Bass’ hair, “So how long is this honeymoon?”

“I scheduled a week, but before you complain, Jeremy is only a half-day’s ride away, and he will absolutely come out and get us if anything major happens.”

“Complain? I’m thrilled. We should promise each other right now, that we will do this at least twice a year.”

“Sounds great.”

“But right now, I really need some food,” Miles said, “Then, maybe some kitchen counter sex. After all, I still need to give you that one thing that you’ve always wanted but been too afraid to ask for.”

Bass’ eyes widened. Rim job.

“Miles,” he started to backpedal, “Seriously, you do not have to do that. I mean I wouldn’t—“

Miles grabbed him roughly, rolling him over onto his back and pushing him into the bed with the weight of his body.

“Bass, I never do anything I don’t want to do, so just stop. I want to do it. Just because you aren’t into doing it doesn’t mean I feel the same way.” 

Bass stared into Miles’ eyes, feeling desire flood through his body. He couldn’t wait.

“This is our fake honeymoon, right?” Miles continued, “And what do you do on fake honeymoons?”

“Fuck a lot?”

“Exactly. You fuck and you eat. Since we just did the former, let’s eat, so then I can fuck you again.”

Bass smiled, “I love you so much, do you know that?”

“Yeah. I love you too,” Miles said, leaning down to kiss him.


End file.
